Lassie Don't Fetch
by Bomb-O-Maniac
Summary: Mostly featuring Det. Lassiter, with a few others, in various little things.
1. Chapter 1

**Lassie Don't Fetch**

**Author: **Bomb-O-Maniac

**Summa****ry**: Lassiter does not like it when his territory is invaded.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own PSYCH nor Supernatural.

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Buzz McNabb had never seen so much blood before in one place. Sure, he'd seen the gory movies. Sure he was a cop, he'd been to crime scenes. But he'd never seen anything like this. O'Hara had turned a distinct shade of green and Buzz was very, very glad Shawn and Gus were not around.

Detective Lassiter on the other had only looked pissed. More pissed than usual (which was saying a lot). It was kind of scary, and Officer McNabb was very glad he wasn't the bad guy.

"McNabb!" Buzz snapped to attention, "God check on O'Hara, and get the forensics team in here. Damn pussies," the Detective growled, kneeling to inspect something. Buzz didn't stick around long enough to see what, thankful for something to do.

-

Det. Lassiter watched McNabb's retreating form and felt pity for all of three seconds before turning his gaze back to the clues before him.

No human committed this crime.

He wondered if this was the first victim in Santa Barbara, or if there were more under the radar. Lassiter made note of the body. The heart was obviously not missing though it had been torn from the body, along with many other organs. There was no disgusting rotten egg smell. Keen blue eyes scanned the room. Looking for anything that might give him a clue.

_(The thick, coppery scent of blood was almost overpowering.)_

"Hey, Lassie-face the cavalry is -" Shawn Spencer's voice choked off and Lassiter turned to glare at the 'psychic'. Shawn had turned a shade of green similar to O'Hara's, "Oh god."

"Get out," the detective snarled, "_Now_." The psychic about faced and fled. Growling to himself, head detective Carlton Lassiter, part-time hunter, left the room.

-

McNabb was standing with O'Hara and Spencer when Lassiter exited the house, passing forensics and the coroner on their way in. McNabb had done as he was told, it was one thing he could count on with the officer. He'd stayed with Lassiter the longest in the bloody house. Not exactly the most worthy thing to be noted, but of all the things Lassiter had seen to become immune to this, and McNabb has lasted as long as he had with out seeing those things as well. . . Well, it was just noteworthy in Carlton's book, and he would make it a point not to send the officer back in there unless he absolutely had to. Lassiter motioned to some of the other beat cops.

"You, go stand in there with them," he growled, "you two, search the rest of the house. No one says anything to the press, we want this thing to stay out of the papers, understood?" They nodded, "Good, that goes for the rest of you as well!"

He approached O'Hara.

"Are you okay?" She nodded, straitening a little as she did. _'Good girl,'_ he thought to himself,_ 'It'll get a little easier as you get older.'_

"I'm good." He nodded to McNabb, who was looking much better than he had been in the house. _(He needed his gun. The one with the clip full of silver ammo. His shotgun was in the trunk of his car, hidden in the false bottom. His palms itched for it.) _The hairs on the back of his neck hadn't gone settled since he'd stepped into the house. Shifting, he turned back to the house with narrowed eyes.

Something supernatural had happened in that house. He'd stake his rosary on it.

--

**Notes**: Testing.. Testing.. One. one-on-one. Two. TOAST! Just a small something cooked up out of boredom. Any continuation of this story is iffy at best. Though, the idea of Lassie face as the big bad Hunter is a totally awesome one, and would make my day so totally complete.


	2. Dean Lassie?

**Author: Bomb-O-Maniac**

**Characters**: Dean and Juliet

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Supernatural nor PSYCH

Juliet pointed her glock at the older Winchester. He grimaced.

"Seriously? Lady, you really don't want to do this," he said, hazel eyes boring into her blue ones, "More people are going to die if you don't let me go and do my job."

Sure, he had lied about his job and identity. Sure he was a convicted felon, suspected serial killer, thief, conman, liar, grave desecrating delinquent, and had a bad-ass car. But did all those things necessarily make him a bad person? Was he really the cold hearted killer his (thick) FBI file made him out to be? He didn't look like one. And he sure as hell didn't look dead.

(God, help her she was having second thoughts.)

"And what exactly is your job?" Dean Winchester, dead man walking, looked at her much the same way her partner did. Weirdly earnest. Honest. Carlton Lassiter and Dean Winchester were nothing alike.

"Saving people."

Juliet wondered if it was a crime that she believed him.

"Fine," she huffed, "but you keep me in the loop, and stop flashing that I.D. around."

"Fine," the blond detective could tell he had no intention of keeping his end of the bargain, "Now, could you lower your gun? I don't want to get shot. Again."

**Notes:** Hello again. Review. You don't have to. But suggestions and whatever are always welcome. Yea, not much Lassie-Bad-Assery in this one. Next time!


	3. Hotel California 12

**Author: **Bomb-O-Maniac

**Characters: **Dean, Lassie – Set pre-season 1 for supernatural.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Supernatural nor PSYCH

(Part 1 / 2 – Hotel California)

Lassiter hunched over the bar, sipping his whiskey. It was a nice bar with dark hard wood, a clean finish, and decorative art noveau moldings. . .It also made a good solid _thump_ noise when yet another patron finished their liquid courage and set their glasses back on the counter.

And there were a lot of patrons.

He'd been tired when he'd stopped at the Hotel – tired in so many more ways than just physically – and with his eyes drooping he'd stopped at the only hotel on the deserted highway, a mirage he'd thought at first, but turned out to be more than real. He'd been more than grateful when the woman behind the front desk told him they'd had more than enough room to accommodate him, and that they were running an absurdly cheap special. She'd checked him with a big smile, a tip of her red hat (that matched her red and gold uniform), the jingle of exchanged keys, and directions on how to get to his room.

Best nights sleep ever. And he didn't even remember the name of the damn place!

But here he was, the next night, parked in front of the 1920's inspired bar with its ancient bartender, moldings, and equally as tired looking patrons as he, with no urge to leave. At all.

"What's your damage?" a sultry voice asked. He looked up, the woman was pretty enough (gorgeous really), with her dark hair, smoky eyes, and black boat necked shirt (tastefully cut, he noticed, and liked). She was talking to him.

"What?" she laughed placed a hand on his shoulder and ran it down his arm.

"Mr. Lassiter," she said, "Would you like a drink?"

"Sure."

They talked, and at the end of the night, Lassiter couldn't remember exactly what.

Carlton found himself at the bar again the next night. In the same place, ordering the same drink from the same ancient bartender.

"Another whiskey, sir?"

"Yeah," Carlton said, "Please."

"Of course, and what of you, sir?" Carlton turned to the man seated next to him. He hadn't heard him walk up, let alone sit down. The man was about as big as he was, leather jacket, short blond hair, and the same look on is face as every other fellow there.

Tired. (Depressed, sad, down in the dumps, destroyed from the inside out)

Lassiter reckoned the look on the guys face ranged between '_tired/lonely'_ and '_dying from the inside'_. Briefly, he wondered, what did his own face say?

"Whiskey." The guy said, "Please." Mr. Bartender wandered off to get their drinks and tend other drinks on the way. Carlton leaned over and tapped the guy on the shoulder. Why? Who knew. He held out his hand.

"Hey. I'm Carlton." Mr. Leather-Jacket gave him a once over.

"Dean." They shook.

Carlton and his new friend didn't really talk much. Not at first anyways. Not until 'the woman' came back. She sidled up to him, slipping an arm around his shoulders and played with the ends of his hair.

"Who is your friend?" she asked.

"Dean," a.k.a. Mr. Leather-Jacket gave the woman his best smile and shook her hand, "Nice to meet you." The woman, wearing a similar shirt as the night before, different jewelry, he noticed though.

"That's a nice necklace," Carlton said, "What is that design?" A funny look passed over the woman's face, one he almost didn't catch.

"Oh, just a family heirloom, that's all."

The three of them talked, and later that night, Carlton couldn't remember just what about.

Dean wandered the hotel. Couldn't help himself. He'd always been a bit fascinated by houses and buildings. He'd done a few construction jobs, probably the only hard working, vaguely honest (they'd paid him under the table) jobs he'd ever worked. At the moment he couldn't exactly remember when or where he'd done those jobs, just . . . that he liked buildings; building things. He'd rebuilt something out of one of his old walkmans a long time ago. Couldn't remember exactly what – but he had!

Dean made his way down to the main floor. He waved to the (hot) night clerk, who waved back with a big smile before tending a man with bags at the counter.

"There's a dance going on, sir, if you'd like to join," she called to him, "They'll provide you a mask."

That sounded fun. Too bad he didn't dance. Dean avoided the hallway to the ballroom (which was a little odd, considering when he first pulled up, the place didn't seem quite that big). Maybe they had a kitchen… pie sounded awesome right about now. Maybe that one guy was there, and the hot chick. Yea.

Carlton found the guy he met the night before passed out on a table full of food. He himself had spent his time well into the night dancing with the gorgeous woman and now his stomach was demanding pretty much the same thing that was on his friends table. Carlton sat and stared. There was pretty much everything a good meat and potato's kind of guy would want sitting there on Mr. Leather-Jackets table. Hell, the salt shaker was even tipped over and spilling salt all over.

While Carlton was sweeping the salt into his hand, Dean, he finally remembered the other mans name, still hadn't woken up. He dusted his hands off on the floor.

"Come on guy, uh, Dean," he shook the other guys shoulder, "Come on, time to get up."

Dean shot up like a bullet.

"What the _fuck-_" the man snarled, "Goddamn, Carlton, what the _fuck!"_

"Hey, I didn't do anything! Don't 'what the fuck me', all I did was wake you up."

"Christ you didn't have to hit me!"

"I didn't! All I did was shake your shoulder!" Dean pulled his shirt sleeve all the way up. Their jaws dropped. A brilliant red hand print, roughly the shape of Carlton's hand, had imprinted itself on his bicep.

"Son of a bitch…" Dean breathed.

"Salt," Carlton said suddenly, "There was salt on my hand!"

"Yea, what the hell is that supposed to mean, 'there's salt on my hand'," Dean made a face, "Oooh! Spooky!"

"Salt is believed to be a pure substance in ancient cultures…" Carlton said, thick brows furrowing, trying to remember.

"And that means?" Dean asked, "God you sound like Sammy."

"Who's that?"

"I . . . He's my . . ." Dean's face was pained, "I can't remember."

"Me either."

**Notes: Part one of two. Yay! Lassie-ness!**


	4. Monsterzz

**Chapter 4 - LMAO**

**Disclaimer: No, I don't own PSYCH or supernatural.

* * *

**

"There's somethin' in my clo-shit." Lassiter didn't even open his eyes.

"Closet, Iris, say 'clo-set'."

"Claaaw-_shet_," the detective could practically feel the little blond girl rolling her eyes at him, "There's somethin' in my claw-shet, come ooon, Uncle Carl, coome oooon." Tiny hands tugged on his dress shirt as she let out an aggravated, "Noooooooooooooow."

Uncle Carl sighed. His shoulder ached like hell, and the little girl was not helping at all. How Chief Vic roped him into baby sitting her four year old, he had no idea. _He_ wasn't her favorite babysitter, that was _Spencer _(and no, he wasn't jealous at all, seriously! Not like _Spencer _was there when she was born).

"Iris, that hurts," he said, "I'm hurt remember?"

"Sorry, I forgoted," the little girl patted his arm, sending small shockwaves of pain down his arm, "I wont do it again."

"Iris!"

"Sorry!" she was quiet for a few blessed seconds, and then, "Will you come look now?" He sighed. Pulling his hand away from his eyes, he pushed himself up to a sitting position.

"Alright, I'm coming," the detective winced as she shrieked.

"Yes! Come on!" she raced away, small footsteps muffled by the lush carpet of Chief Vic's house, "You're in for it now, monsters! My Uncle's going to shoot you!" Carlton rolled his eyes, he might _pretend _to shoot it, sure. But he wasn't really going to fire a gun in his bosses house. He wasn't stupid.

Growling through the pain in his shoulder, Lassiter picked himself up off the couch and followed the little girls shrieked threats at the make-believe monster.

Iris's bedroom was a monster in its own right; pink, purple and bright blue everywhere. Things glittered and sparkled. Hello Kitty sneered at him from her comforter. It was truly hideous in Lassiter's mind, but utterly suiting for the raging baby blond shaking her fist at her closet. It occurred to hunter in him that he should probably ward the little girls room while he was there with out the chief around to ask awkward questions.

"Seeeeeeeee! Look there it's trying to get out again!" Iris ran up to the closet door and started stomping. Lassiter was about to laugh until he heard it _scream_. He saw the claw marks appear in the carpet. The closet door bent and shuddered. Lassiter's blood turned to ice.

"Holy shit!" The hunter swept the little girl up from the floor and shot out of the room. "Holy shit, Iris there's something in your closet!"

"You said shit! What's shit? Can I say shit, too!"

"No! Iris!" Lassiter slammed the front door open and walked swiftly to his car, "You may not say shit!"

"Damn!"

"Iris!" He settled Iris on the trunk of his car, "Please, do not say either 'shit' or 'damn' because your mother will kill me."

"If you kill the monster, then mommy can't kill you, because you'll save me! I sawz it in my dreaaaaaaaam! You kill moooonsteeeeeerz!" Iris's eyes bugged as she drug out the 'sters' in monsters till she ran out of breath.

(How such a spazz popped from the Chief's loins, he didn't want to know)

Wait. Dreams?

"How do you know I kill monsters -" Iris opened her mouth and he held up a hand, "You know what, wait. Tell me after I deal with the thing in your closet, okay?"

"Okay!" Carlton rolled his eyes, and put on his best 'cop' voice.

"Okay, ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to please get off the trunk of my car," Iris giggled, "There's a monster I have to deal with." Carlton held a hand, not attached to his bad shoulder, for the little girl to grab onto and lifted her off the trunk. Popping the trunk open, he pulled back crappy looking rug, removed a fake part of the trunk floor and pulled out a gun.

He only had one gun hidden in his trunk, but it would be enough. The iron and silver bullets would take care of just about _any_ supernatural creature. Checking the clip, he removed the gun at his waist, and replaced it with the colt from his trunk. He slammed the trunk closed and turned to Iris.

She was watching him with ginormous blue eyes. For a second, he thought she was going to cry.

"Can I watch you kill it?"

"No!"


	5. 5

Carlton wonders how many times he's died in this life time. It's not like he keeps track or anything, though sometimes he thinks he should. There was a moment, after every failed case. After every victim's death. After every time he just wasn't _good_ enough - he died.

Hell, he died a little bit every day. Sometimes, Carlton wondered if Spencer died at all. If Spencer _understood_ what death was. What death _meant_. _Spencer_ had all the dumb freaking luck in the world - Hell, knowing the fraud psychic, he'd probably quote some movie, _"Death is merely the beginning of the next greatest adventure."_ and be supremely excited about it. His heaven would probably be riddled with pineapples.

Did Carlton fear death? No. Not in the least. Sometimes he feared _how_ he was going to die. They were all painful so far, the ones he'd come back from. But he supposed, when one lived by the gun - one died by the gun. A mangled (mis)quote from an old Hunting buddy. Said buddy had run out of ammo and had his spleen ripped out and used as a chew toy before Carlton could get to him.

And yet, he still got up the next morning, after having lost a good friend and partner, and went on his way. He died that night, too, standing over the smoking corpse of the Black Dog, tears streaming down his face, quietly mourning. He'd eventually gathered up all the critical evidence (he would later mail his brother the mans belongings), said his 'goodbye's' and 'I'm sorry's', and trudged off into the night.

He wondered if Hunters had their own heaven. If God gave them a special piece of Heaven. Granted them solitude and rest. He wondered if his parents were there.

Carlton wonders when he'll die that final death. The one he doesn't come back from. And he wonders if he'll make it to that special piece of Heaven. To hear the trumpets sound, the voices of the angels rise up in praise, and he meets the Big Guy. It's a nice thought, and he smiles whenever he thinks about it, but until then, he will rise from the dead every morning, and continue on.

* * *

**A/N:** Yea, a little weird. But until I actually hunt down a beta, life will continue on this way for a very long time. An you know what? I like 'pondering'Lassiter.


	6. Monsterzz 2

Continuation of chapter 4

* * *

"Can I ask you something, Carlton?"

Detective Lassiter looked up from his paperwork and in his partners direction briefly, his eyebrows raised. Juliet blushed faintly and cleared her throat.

"Right, umm," she squared herself, "well, did you really shoot up the chief's daughters closet?" Lassiter didn't even twitch.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, oh," Juliet deflated, "okay." Taking pity on his partner, Lassiter continued,

"Though, if I had actually done something as absurd as that," he said lowly, not needing to see his partner to know that she was listening intently, "I would have unloaded a whole clips worth of silver bullets into it. Just to be sure." He made a correction to a date on his paperwork then looked up at Juliet, his expression serene, his bright blues sage-like, "Closet monsters can be mighty dangerous." He gestured to the papers in her hand, "You done?" Juliet nodded and handed him her paperwork. He smiled, took the papers, and went to drop them off with the chief.

She'd snap out of it before he got back.

_(What actually happened)_

"_Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease let me watch!" Iris latched onto Lassiter's leg and wrapped herself around it like the blond monkey-gremlin-thing she was, "I'll love you forever and ever and ever -"_

"_Iris! For the last time, NO!" The little girls lower lip started to wobble and Lassiter immediately felt bad. He sighed, "It's for your own safety, grem-Iris. Let go, so I can go take care of it." _

_Tears started to form. He wasn't going to last much longer._

"_I'm not going to tell you again. Get. Off."_

"_No," the little girl tightened her grip on his leg. He was starting to lose feeling in the foot attached to it, "If you don't let me help, I'll tell mommy!"_

"_Your Mother is going to have my head on a silver platter anyways, so I don't see what the difference is."_

"_I'll tell her you were the one who madeOfficerRod-ree-." Lassiter froze, how the hell-? "And I'll tell her why _somebody_ wrecked her car and hurt his shoulder reallyreallybadeventhoughit'sgettingbetternowisn'tit?" Lassiter stared down at the little girl. Her bright face innocent and knowing at the same time. They were going to have a nice long talk about these dreams she was having._

"_Fine, you can carry the holy water," he growled, pulling the flask out of his pocket and held it down to her lever. Irish was off him in a flash (and an intense squeal) and snatched the thing out of his hands before he could blink. _

_Blackmailed by a four year old. His life was pathetic._

"_Okay," Lassiter crouched and put a hand on her shoulder, making sure he made eye contact and was listening to him, "Now, you stay behind me when we get into the house, I'm point and you're back up, understand?" The little girl shook her head vigorously, "Good, when we get to your bedroom, you stay in the door way, got it?"_

"_But-"_

"_No buts, you do as I say when it comes to a hunt. Is that understood?" Lassiter used his 'I'm head detective and you're lowly scum' voice on the little girl and did not feel bad in the least. She was blackmailing him! He wasn't going to get over that anytime soon. Lassiter figured that after this, he had better at least make favorite uncle for ever award or something before the little monkey-gremlin-things Mother put a hit out on him._

_The trek from the front door to Iris's bedroom was uneventful (though he did hear some very suspicious sounds coming from the kitchen that he might have to check up on later before they got _too_ out of control). Inside Iris's gawd-awful pink bedroom, Lassiter stood in the door way, his pistol trained on the closet door._

_(Iris kept whispering 'helpful' things to him, like how if he was afraid she would shoot it for him, and where her Mommy kept the baseball bat in her bedroom incase they needed to bludgeon it later, which she would definitely help with because she was really good at hitting things apparently)_

_So he stood there, contemplating the mystery of how to get the closet door open with out setting off the monster-in-the-closet or being to close to have it lunge out and eat him before he was able to get a shot off, when Iris hissed suddenly, "LookitscomingoutOHMYGOD-!"_

"_Wha-?" the doorknob twisted slowly and eventually clicked. There was a pause, Lassiter narrowed his gaze on the door his senses screaming at him 'danger!', and even Iris kept her trap shut (for which he was thankful). Creaking painfully like only door hinges can, the horridly pink and stickered constraption swung open. Irish shrieked - _

_In his hands, the colt came to life barking loudly as it pumped all seven rounds (a mix of silver and iron) in the beastly thing trying to slither out of the little girls closet._

_There was silence in the Vick household._

"_That was so coooooooooool!"_

_(back to Jules)  
_

By the end of the day, Juliet still couldn't figure out if her partner had been joking with her or not.

* * *

Notes: And there was have part two of chapter 4. I heart Iris-the-spazz. Anyways, if anybody has any suggestions, feel free to throw them at me :)

Lucilla - Part two of Hotel California is being worked on now~ That will be up next.


	7. Chapter 7

Gordon answered the door with a hand on his glock. Just in case. Standing there with a big grin was the detective from before. Lassiter, Carlton. Beside him, a hot blond just looked confused.

"_Good_ morning, Mr. Walker!" the detective said, shoving a piece of paper in his face, "Here's our warrant, courtesy of one Judge Horace Leland, whom I have say was all to happy to sign it when our resident _psychic," _Gordon's thoughts darkened to fire and sulfer, "presented undeniable evidence that you might be connected to one of our more current cases."

Gordon raised a brow and glanced past the detective towards the black-white pair whispering loudly to each other - _did he just say what I think he said? I think so! We need to mark this day on our calendar! You got that right!_ The hunter kept his face schooled carefully blank.

"May we come in?" When Gordon didn't answer, "I'll just take that as a yes, Mr. Detective, come right in and prove my innocence." Gordon scowled at him. "_Spencer!_ Get your ass in here and do your _thing_. You too, Guster!" He decided to bluff it.

"You wont find anything, Detective Lassiter," he said with a sigh, "I told you to call my superiors at the FBI. You probably didn't even call the number on my card did you -"

"Oh there wasn't any need, I have all the California FBI contact numbers memorized, and I even had O'Hara here call DC. Just to make sure." Lassiter still had the same big grin on his face, "No one's ever heard of you before. And that number on your card? Led to some poor old man's house in the middle of no where. Was sorry to hear that people like yourself have been using his number in your con's and he never even knew." Gordon felt icy knife pierce his gut. _Shit._

"-Man you sure are some kind of weirdo, you know that right?" the assumed Spencer pounced, "What the hell kind of crap is this? Oh _OH! I'M GETTING A VISION!"_ wailed the idiot, "_We'll find something under the bed!-_" Several officers started ransacking the motel bed, one of them brought up a wicked looking knife along with a journal.

"What about his car?" Lassiter asked pleasantly, "Surely a con-man would have something stashed in his car? Lucky us, this search warrant covers vehicles as well -"

"_OH THE CAR-VROOOM-HONK HONK-"_ Spencer gasped, falling into who could only be 'Guster',

"_Shawn!"_

"McNabb!" Lassiter gestured to his suspects truck -

"On it boss!"

Carlton Lassiter continued to grin happily at Gordon, and the hunter suddenly figured it out as the other man's lackey's ran around tearing apart his room and his truck. Santa Barbara already had a hunter, and he'd stepped on the other's toes _bad. _He was suddenly very thankful that he hadn't decked the cop and run as soon as he'd opened the door.

"O'Hara," turning, from the wreckage of the hotel room, the hot blond raised a brow in question, "Would you like to do the honors?" the blond brightened considerably.

"I'd love too!" Det. O'Hara rounded on Gordon, forcefully shoving him into a wall and slapping on the cuffs, "You have the right to remain silent, anything you say, can and will be held against you in a court of law..."

_In the end, Gordon Walker was charged with credit card fraud, impersonating a federal agent, disrupting a case, B&E, grave digging, obtaining information through illegal means, attempting to bribe Santa Barbara police officials, and stealing Detective Lassiter's car to get away. There is a warrant out for his arrest in Santa Barbara county and the surrounding area.  
_

_The end._

* * *

_A/N: Just the end of this little thing. Not everything. Every time I work on the second part of hotel California, I get these sudden great idea's for a different set, and poof!  
_


End file.
